Thwarted by a Cold
by btamamura
Summary: A cold passing through Paris has infected the Musketeers, all except one. It's up to Albert to help his friends back to perfect health.


**Disclaimer: **I do not own Albert the Fifth Musketeers or the characters. They are the property of their creators.

**Notes: **_**It has been years, but after rewatching some of the series, I've finally been able to write a new fic for it! It might lack the humor that the series is known for, and I do apologise for that, but I'm still proud of this one. I do hope you enjoy it too!**_

"It certainly has been quiet here lately," Albert commented to himself as he added some diced onions into his mix of ingredients. "I have to admit I am a little thankful for that cold going around, it's put the Cardinal out of commission."

"ACHOOO!"

The building had shaken with that sneeze. "Golly! That sounded like Porthos!" Knowing it wasn't a good idea to keep his cooking on the flame, he put out the fire. "I'll come back to it later." He hopped off the stool and left his workshop.

He arrived at the bedroom where his comrades, the Three Musketeers (though there were actually four of them) usually slumbered. He knocked on the door before pushing it open, just so his friends wouldn't be alarmed by the door opening so suddenly...knowing D'Artagnan, he'd think it was an attack by the Cardinal's Guards. "My friends, is everything alright?"

Aramis coughed into his hand before looking over to the smaller man. "Ah, Albert. It seems we've caught that blasted cold that has been passing through Paris lately."

_I take back what I said about being grateful for that cold..._

"I swear, if I could take my sword to this, I would..." D'Artagnan groaned as he tried to sit up.

"That would not be a wise idea, my dear D'Artagnan, you'd only hurt yourself. Now, everyone, just lie back down and I'll be back in a few minutes." He hurried out of the room and down the stairs.

He burst into his workshop. "The ammunition will have to wait. First things first, my friends will need some medicine to get well, handkerchiefs for their sneezes and coughing, and of course some soup to eat. Now, where did I put that old book of family remedies..." He picked up the stool he'd left by the fireplace and carried it to the bookshelf. He stepped onto it and scanned what each book said on the spine. "Ah! Here it is!" The book he pulled out was more like an album. "My grandmama's remedies have never failed before, time to put them to work again." He jumped off the stool, book in hand, and stepped over to the table. He opened the book and flipped through it. "Let's see...stomach ailments, cuts and grazes...here we are! Common cold cures!" He read through the section of the album very carefully. He nodded to himself. "So, if I mix that herb with their soup, it will work as a medicine. No wonder I can't recall ever having a bad tasting medicine whenever I got sick. Now, which soup did Grandmama recommend?"

D'Artagnan sat up and sighed. "We can't allow this cold to beat us, gentlemen! We are the musketeers of his majesty King Louis XIII! Nothing has ever been able to defeat us before!"

"Keep it down, D'Artagnan, I have a splitting headache," Porthos replied.

"But, what if the Cardinal has already recovered? We're needed out there!"

"If you can stand, then be my guest..."

"Fine." He pulled back the covers and winced as he forced his tired body to rise from the bed. Eventually, he was back on his feet. "Now then, to find my uniform and I'll be off to save Paris from the Cardinal's schemes!"

"Do your best, dear D'Artagnan. We'll be right behind you," Aramis stated as he sat up. "Athos, Porthos, are you coming?"

"My head hurts too much, if I sit up then I'm sure I'll die..." Porthos moaned in response.

Athos just continued to sleep.

D'Artagnan crossed his arms. "Come on, I'm sick too, but we can't let it stop us!"

"What do you think you are doing, D'Artagnan?"

The only three awake musketeers turned to the doorway, and there stood Albert with a tray holding numerous handkerchief piles.

"I'm glad I came up when I did. You should be in bed, D'Artagnan, and you too, Aramis. You are much too sick to go out. What if you were to get in a fight? You'd be defeated easily in your condition." He saw D'Artagnan pout. "I don't want you to think that I'm thinking badly of you, I'm just concerned about your wellbeing. I'd rather you not get hurt or make your condition worse."

"What about you? What were you like when you were sick?"

Albert smiled and sat the tray on the table over the other side of the room. He approached D'Artagnan and helped him back into bed. "I do have to admit that when I was younger I was just as eager to get out of bed."

"Hypocrite..."

He chuckled, knowing D'Artagnan was not meaning to spite him. "I did so, one day, and I regretted it."

"What happened, dear Albert?" Aramis asked as he lay back down.

"My fever rose and I was in a lot of pain. I had to stay in bed for three days before I'd recovered. Now, if you don't want that to happen to you, then get back into bed and rest. It will help you recover."

"But, what if the Cardinal is better?" D'Artagnan asked before letting out a few harsh coughs.

"There, you see? You're not well enough to worry about all of that." He fixed the covers around D'Artagnan. "As for Richelieu, it's fine. The Captain told me just this morning that Richelieu is still under the weather, so it's still a good time to rest."

"Albert, do you have something for a headache?" Porthos asked. "My head is killing me..."

"I'm sure Grandmama has the perfect remedy in her book. I'll bring that to you right away, and then I'll prepare your medicinal soup."

"Medicinal...? Oh, it's sure to taste bad, isn't it?" Aramis asked.

"Oh, you'd be surprised, dear Aramis, not once did I ever have bad medicine whenever Grandmama helped look after me." Certain that his friends were in bed and were going to stay there, he made his way out of the room. "D'Artagnan, if I see you out of bed one more time, then I will have to tie you to it."

"Okay, whatever you say," D'Artagnan sighed.

With that, Albert closed the door and made his way back to his workshop.

"Alright, let's see what Grandmama recommends for headaches." He put a marker in the colds section and flipped through the book. "Here we are. I think Porthos would appreciate a cup of chamomile tea. Maybe I should brew some for everyone, just in case. Plus, it would help them to relax." He looked up to one of his shelves. "Now, the question is, do I have any chamomile?" He moved to the shelf and had a look. It was a lower one, so there was no need for a stool. "Hmm...ah, here we are! I knew I'd kept some for emergencies. Now, I need to brew this in hot water, and I'll add honey and lemon to help with their colds." He found a pot of honey that he often saved for breakfast, but there was no lemon. "Oh dear, I'll have to go to the market and get some. But, would it really be wise to leave them alone? I know D'Artagnan, he's sure to get out of bed the minute he sees I'm gone."

"ACHOOO!"

"That was Athos, sounds like he's finally awake. Never mind the lemon, the honey will be fine." He moved the pot he'd been cooking more ammunition in, and set up a newer, smaller one. He filled it with water and started the fire going again. "Now, once that's boiled, I'll add whatever's necessary."

"D'Artagnan, what are you doing? Albert said to stay in bed," Porthos warned as he caught the young musketeer sitting up.

"I just can't take this any longer. I want to get out and do something."

"But, you heard what Albert said, it will only make you feel worse..."

"I don't care! I'm sick of lying around here!"

"And personally, I'm getting fed up with you doing what you should not be doing." Albert was by the door, he had another tray, this one filled with chamomile and honey tea. He wasn't pleased. "I told you, D'Artagnan, if you rest, you'll get better faster, but if you get up and run around, you'll only get worse." He set the tray on the table and picked up two mugs. He carried them to Porthos and Athos. "This should help a little with your headache, Porthos. It will also help all of you feel more relaxed." He returned to the table and grabbed the mugs for Aramis and D'Artagnan. He handed them to both men.

"But, Albert, it's no good for me to just lie around."

"And that's exactly what you'll be doing for a week if you push yourself now." He smiled in a reassuring manner. "Grandmama's remedies always aid in rapid recovery, so if you rest well today and then have all of your soup, I'm sure you'll be fit as a fiddle in no time at all. I'm even willing to take a chance here and say you'll be out of bed tomorrow. But, that's only if you rest."

"Alright then, we'll do it your way."

"Good. The chamomile and honey tea will help all of you feel more relaxed, it may even help some of you get some more sleep." He noticed Athos had dozed off again. "I'll be back up later with your soup. For now, sweet dreams, gentlemen." He watched as they all started to close their eyes and relax. _And I didn't even need to add any sleeping powder to it. _He closed the door and made his way back to his workshop.

The green onion soup was almost ready, he just had to add one more thing. "Now, if I add this herb, then the medicinal effects will work too." He threw the herb in and allowed it to settle into the water. It boiled lightly. "There. It's ready." He used a ladle to scoop some into four bowls. He'd already prepared a bowl for himself before adding the herb. Because he wasn't sick, he didn't need the medicine, but it would help his immune system if he did have some of the soup that night. "I'll allow mine to cool while I take the rest to my friends." He carefully placed each bowl on a tray and carried it back to the bedroom his friends were currently occupying.

Porthos opened his eyes as his nose caught a whiff of something tasty. He had the uncanny ability to sniff out anything tasty, no matter how stuffed up his nose was. "That smells good...and my headache's gone now. That tea really did the trick." He saw his friends waking one by one. "I think it's dinner time, gentlemen."

The door opened, and in stepped Albert, carrying four bowls filled with soup. "Alright, gentlemen, this will aid in your recovery. Make sure you drink every single drop of it. There is a medicinal herb added, but it has very little taste, so the green onion in the soup will be what you'll really taste." He handed out each bowl along with a spoon for those who weren't going to be able to drink it like they would with tea. "Alright, I'll leave you to have that, I'll be down in my workshop." He turned to D'Artagnan. "And, D'Artagnan, please do stay in bed while I'm gone." He left the tray on the table so he wouldn't have to carry it back up again after he'd finished his own bowl of soup.

He sat down and started to have his soup.

"ACHOO!"

The building shook, signalling it was Porthos who'd sneezed again. "It didn't sound as horrible as the one he'd released earlier, he's already being treated of his ailment." He picked up the bowl and started to drink the soup. _Mmm, just like old times. I'm glad I was able to make it the same way Grandmama had._

The next day, the headquarters of the Musketeers was filled with life. Everyone had recovered from their colds, even D'Artagnan, despite him trying to get out of bed in the middle of the night, just as Albert went to check on them. There were no more complaints, and everyone was happy.

Well, everyone except one. "Achoo! Oh dear, I seem to have caught their cold. Well, only one thing for it." With that, Albert set about making a small pot of his grandmama's green onion and medicine soup. That was all he'd do that day, he needed rest, and he wasn't going to have any if he focused on his inventions.


End file.
